Hilary Jocelyn
Let’s have a debate my friends. Just for fun. The question I have for you is ..“What environment do you think is more dangerous? Living in the big city? Or life in the countryside, right here in our own back yard? You get to decide….
For sure, the city can be a dangerous place. I should know, as it’s where I grew up. I reckon that entitles me to officially call myself a City Girl.
My childhood habitat was just a few kilometers from the centre of Edinburgh, and the road I lived on was so busy that in the morning and evening rush hour the whole house would quake and rumble every time a bus, or transport truck, would come a whizzing down the hill. No chance that we could practice wobbling on a bike, or muck around kicking a soccer ball on the sidewalk outside, as for sure, some zooming car would claim us for roadkill. So instead, for entertainment, my sister and I would clamber up on the big six foot high stonewall at the end of our yard, and wave or make silly faces at the passing busses.
One day after school, as I was tucking into my late afternoon tea-and-toast snack in our kitchen and getting ready to go out to climb on my friend, the wall, I heard a crash and a thunderous explosion. Looking out of the window, I literally saw the world in front of me being turned upside down. A huge cement mixer of a vehicle had just crashed into the wall, rolled upside down and landed in our yard, only a few inches away from our house, with its feet spinning wildly in the air. My poor pal, the wall lay crumbled beside it in shattered pieces. Amazingly, the driver was seriously shaken up, but basically unharmed. Had he been ten minutes later, however, he would have interrupted my wall-climbing escapade, and I would have left the scene, either in a blue light flashing ambulance, or in a body bag.
More city life dangers lay in wait for me as I continued to grow up. One very sad day, someone stole my entire teenage collection of trying-to-be-fashionable clothes, as they hung out on our clothesline to dry, in an optimistic gap in the Scottish rain. I had bought each item with carefully saved up money that I had earned by getting up at dawn to deliver newspapers, or by babysitting the neighbour’s two impossibly uncontrollable children. The loss of these precious clothing items was my first initiation to several other city theft experiences, and over time someone stole a couple of my much loved bicycles, a record collection, and most importantly, my favourite doll, who disappeared promptly after I had laid her down for a moment in a public washroom while I went to “spend a penny ” (a Scottish expression for having a quick pee).
As a city-dwelling child, I was, of course, warned repetitively about the risks of ‘talking to strangers.” However, in a metropolis, everywhere you look you see a landscape of unfamiliar faces, and almost everyone you come across is a stranger. I am naturally a highly social being, and so instead of ignoring this multitude of people I did not know, I developed a sixth, or even a seventh sense, that taught me to listen to my warning bells should someone, or something, feel not quite right. This approach indeed served me well, and I realize now that most of the painful events I encountered in my childhood were in fact, caused by the people I knew.
In case you don’t know, Scotland is the land of whisky and beer, and so, from the young age of around ten years old, when I began to travel unaccompanied on the plentiful city buses, I learned how to handle people who were wandering intoxicated about on the streets and wobbling onto the public transport system. My trick was to walk confidently past groups of loud and hearty drunk people, and should someone try to address me, I discovered that the best plan was not to make eye contact, but to smile and nod in a pleasant manner, while continuing purposefully on my merry way. This seemed to work, as most people I met who were under the influence of alcohol, or whatever else was at hand, were not out to deliberately cause me any kind of trouble.
Slowly, I moved on. Evolving. From the capital of Scotland, that had perhaps proved to be a highly risky place to live, to a remote Scottish island where the biggest life-stealing danger was the wild and uncontrollable sea. And then, from a remote Scottish island to the bigger, infamous city of Glasgow. And from there, somewhat reluctantly, I moved across the ocean to Canada, where I have lived in big cities, small towns, and now, here I am living in the bush, not far from Wakefield.
The countryside can be a dangerous place too. I should know, as it’s where I live. I reckon that entitles me to officially call myself a Country Girl.
My current habitat is right bang centre in the middle of nowhere, and the road I live on is a dirt one, and after heavy rains or the spring thaw, the whole car will quake and rumble as I negotiate the bumps and dips in the rustic road. Highly dangerous to the undercarriage of my trusty old car, but definitely safer to drive along than any highway. Unless you happen to run into a wandering deer who steps out from the bushes in front of you, just as you turn around that corner.
Oh, by the way, before I leave the topic of cars in the rural setting, I should tell you about the time a few years back when someone in crime-ridden Wakefield stole the back wheels from my car – hubs, winter tires and all, on a snowy dark, and stormy night, when I was parked snuggly at the Community Centre. Hmmm, maybe the village is not as safe an environment as we all might like to think! However, where I live now ( and I’m not telling you the exact location – just in case!), we never lock our doors, and in fact, I don’t think we even own a set of housekeys. And so far, so good, as we have not had any daunting theft experiences here at our home (knock on wood!)
However, that doesn’t mean we are safe right here in the deep dark forest. In fact, as I take a short stroll, I notice dangers awaiting me at every turn. Ticks lurk in the grass, ready to pounce on me and infect me with a highly unpleasant disease that could, in one fell swoop, turn my life upside down. Plants, like poison ivy and wild parsnip, sneak up on me as I wander, and decorate my skin with terrible rashes, pain, and lifelong scars. Mosquitoes whirr around, whining in warning, before flying away engorged with my precious red blood. Don’t they carry West Nile disease? And the deer flies and black flies burrow deep into my flesh, causing enormous welts and discomfort as I scratch and itch my way through many endless sleepless nights.
And the dangers get bigger. At night, bears sometimes hang out in the apple tree, and I, for one, feel a bit nervous when I see a pair of eyes glinting from above, as I wander by in the dark, hoping they don’t pounce, and that the fruit they are munching on sufficiently satisfies their hunger. I often sing out loud when I give the dog his nightly outing, and hope that as my warbling voice scratches at the high notes of KD Lang’s ‘Hallelujah,’ any lurking bear will turn tail and flee into the black.
Oh, and I didn’t mention the coyotes who howl at the moon, who have been known to occasionally protect themselves fiercely from humans. Or the porcupines that ate away silently at the brake cables of the car, so that it didn’t respond to my efforts to stop at the end of our laneway, enabling me to sail swiftly, and hazardously, through the intersection, into the dirt road ahead. And of course, I hate to mention the vet fees that threaten to breach my delicate bank account, right after their quills do serious damage to my dog’s sensitive nose.
At this point, I should probably also mention weather. As I head out into the bush, along roughly hewn out trails, branches of trees that have been severed by high winds and storms hover over me, as they threaten to tumble down. I walk cautiously underneath them, listening carefully to their messages, and estimating the amount of time it will take for them to finally crash down. Hopefully, I guess right. Maybe I should wear a helmet to protect my brain – just in case. And of course, as a closing argument, I could also talk about the floods, droughts, and tornadoes that threaten our safety and challenge our collective wellbeing.
Well, my friends, I hope I have presented an impartial and unbiased case, and touched on the many dangers that lie in wait for us all as we wake up each morning – be it as city-livers, or as rural dwellers.
You get to decide which lifestyle is the more dangerous. Feel free to send us your own stories!
Oh, and one more thing before I go that might help you to make your decision. I suggest that you look at the calendar and realize that hunting season is just around the corner. Us country folks had better rummage among our belongings and look out all our bright orange gear. Hats, Armbands, Jackets, Orange dog vests, etc. Just so we and our much-loved animals don’t get shot while someone with a rifle, mistakenly thinks we are wild turkeys, geese, or deer. Phew, that’s a dangerous thought…
Ps On a more serious note… As I listen to the news and think about the terrible wars and gross injustices that are facing many in the world, I am deeply thankful for the peace that surrounds us in our local villages and nearby towns. I realize with gratitude and sorrow that any dangers we face here are not bombs falling on us that kill our children, destroy our homes, traumatize our people, and turn our community into a pile of rubble…. Something to think about…
Wandering Wakefield 